counting sheep
by Isis Lied
Summary: Because the man was the only thing keeping him human in a world full of electric sheep. Makishima/Choe Drabble


counting sheep  
Summary: Because the man was the only thing keeping him human in a world full of electric sheep. Makishima/Choe Drabble

Genre: Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T+ for Gore/Mature themes

Pairing: Makishima/Choe (can be viewed romantically or platonically; whatever floats your boat)

A/N: This is more of a build-up of their relationship from when they first met to how they were in the anime. It's a speculative fic, so I apologize if either of the two seem OOC ^^'

* * *

_Everything is true," he said. "Everything anybody has ever thought."_

_"Will you be all right?"  
_

"_I'll be all right," he said, and thought, And I'm going to die. Both those are true, too.  
_

* * *

At first, there is hesitance.

The silver-haired asymptomatic breathes lightly against the hacker's ear, smirking at the man's noticeable shiver. The Korean stills as the anarchist languidly places his hands on his shoulder. Even through the thick jacket, Choe can still feel the coldness of Shougo's fingers.

"Ah, Makishima-san, I didn't see you there." He says, but makes no motion to turn and face him.

The Korean can feel the man's smirk boring into the back of his head. "That is the point."

Suddenly, there is metal against his throat, against his Adam's apple as a boyish laugh escapes Makishima's lips. Choe frowns, but does not fight against him.

The topaz-eyed man whispers again, slender fingers curled dangerously around the weapon, "Say... Choe, what do you think about _death_?"

The Korean swallows (feels the cold metal move against his feverish skin) and for a moment, there is fear. Fear of saying the wrong answer. Fear of death. He recovers smoothly, however, reaching to brush away a lock of brown hair from his bicolored eyes, "...Could you be more specific?"

He hopes the hesitation goes unnoticed. Regardless, the pressure from the blade lightens by a fraction as the younger man speaks, "Sometimes, there aren't wrong answers Choe."

_Unless you don't answer at all_, Choe supplies in his head, already regretting his previous statement.

He settles for a cough to clear his throat, for once glad that Makishima was behind him so he couldn't see the uncertainty in his eyes. Unfortunately, the razor cuts into his skin at the sudden movement. Choe lets out a small hiss of pain. Blood wells from the cut, dripping onto the keyboard in light taps.

Suddenly, the razor is gone and the monster releases his grip on his shoulder. The brunette finally turns around to see the phantom of the youth disappear down the hall.

Choe presses a hand to the cut, confusion apparent in his red-yellow eyes. "Don't you want an answer?" He calls out, even though he can't hear the sound of the asymptomatic's footsteps any longer.

"I already got one." A smooth voice replies, followed by another boyish laugh.

The Korean settles back into the leather sofa, staring down at the crimson drops, realization flickering past his eyes.

The answer... was obvious. Anyone who bleeds is fearful of death. Because, it was a factor you couldn't control, just as time will continue to tick away even after you break the clock.

He is suddenly reminded of the silver-haired man's plight. Of what he wanted from everyone. It was more than fears or hopes or loves; it was about what made them human: their souls.

_I want to see the splendor of people's souls. I want to check and see if it really is precious. However, when humans base their lives around Sybil's Oracle, without ever consulting their own wills, do they really hold any value?_

* * *

There are peaceful times, however.

They are as few as the digits on a single hand, but the older man cherishes them more than he would like to admit.

It was a content silence between the two, punctuated by ticking clocks, clattering teacups, clicks of a keyboard, and the turn of a page. Choe usually settles into the larger sofa, lounging lazily as he clicks away at logarithms and graphs, red-yellow eyes bathed in the dim glow from the laptop. Makishima usually sits comfortably in the armchair, a tray of tea and some sort of pastry in front of him as he reads.

One rare peaceful day, the routine shifts.

Choe does not look up from the keyboard as the weight on the couch shifts, a flash of white in his periphery. The grin is palpable; the Korean can feel it against his skin, leaving a shiver in his bones.

"Choe..." He starts, languid, calm, predatorily while he presses a cold hand to the brunette's shoulder.

"Is something wrong, Makishima?" He questions, dropping the honorific at the sight of the asymptomatic's eyes.

His mind blanks as the hand disappears, replaced by Makishima's head. Choe stills immediately.

"I've decided you're not a sheep." He finishes, resting against the Korean. The computer hacker doesn't dare to move as the silence returns. He realizes that any attempt at work would be futile. Sighing, he carefully shuts the laptop, trying not to stir the youth. A smirk flits across Makishima's face.

"I'm glad... that you aren't. It's comforting to not be the only human."

(_in a world full of electric sheep_, he adds in his head before the spindles of sleep take over.)

The asymptomatic's pale eyelashes flutter close. Choe smiles.

* * *

Eventually, they learn to understand each other.

"What are you reading now?" The asymptomatic questions, watching as the Korean stares down at the tablet in his lap. Choe looks up, noticing the hint of annoyance present in the other man's eyes.

"The Sound and the Fury." He replies, returning his gaze to the tablet. There is the sound of shuffling feet as Makishima sits in the armchair adjacent of him, crossing one leg over the other.

_"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more; it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."_

He recites the line from Macbeth with a palpable gracefulness, white eyelashes fluttering as he speaks.

For a moment, he looks like an angel. When he opens his eyes, the tinge of amber and topaz that reminded the Korean of a dying flame, the illusion is broken.

"How many times do I have to tell you to read from paperbacks?" Makishima questions, neither upset nor annoyed, but... curious. Somewhere, beneath his golden eyes there is a flicker of a boy who only wanted to learn more. A memory of a time riddled with glossy storybooks and not so desperate Fairytales and a world full of wonderful, beautiful _what ifs_.

(but it too quickly passes away like a flame caught in a storm)

A small smile flits across Choe's face. "Well, it seems like a trivial thing for anarchists to bicker over. Let me have my fun." He jokes.

Shougo does not respond. There is silence, save for the ticking of clocks. Makishima kept old-fashioned, archaic, battery-operated clocks in all corners of the penthouse. He said that they kept him focused and blotted out the silence (making some statement that too much silence was poisoning for the mind). The clocks continue to tick in synch, seconds passing in a dull rhythm.

Choe hears a small intake of breath and pauses from his reading. "Fair enough. I wonder though, what the world would be if we didn't have all these electric sheep..."

The Korean understands the reference, looking down at his tablet's history at the final chapter of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

"I'm not sure. Perhaps it would still be a savage garden." He replies, throwing in a literary reference to match Makishima's.

This brings a flicker of contentment to the asymptomatic's golden orbs. "True. One can be barbaric with or without technology. As long as there are distractions— things to make the world look away as horror upon horror pile away like a stack of corpses— humans will continue to ignore the truth. Even with death right under their noses, they will cover their eyes."

"Wool over their eyes, huh?" Choe remarks, finding the analogy of sheep to humans far more interesting than before. He wants to think it is because of the book— but he knows, he's always known, that every slight shift in personality was due to one person and one person only.

They lapse into a comfortable silence yet again, Makishima drumming his fingers lightly against his knee. To his right Choe can see the city, appearing normal, even beautiful under the light of midday. People shuffled about, walked street corners, passing by scanners and hue checkers with little an afterthought.

_Dull sheep..._ He thinks, unable to return his focus to the E-book in his lap.

It was always like that whenever the silver-haired man was involved. Even for the older man who had known Makishima for years, there was still something overly captivating and charismatic in his mannerisms. Perhaps his victims felt the same way, captivated by his charming smile and golden orbs; the perfect devil in the guise of a prince. Hypnotized to the very end, until the razor made its course around their neck. Choe shook his head. The irony was all too apparent.

Then, what did that make him, the messenger of the devil? The nearly forgotten term _angel of death_ seemed to fit well enough, he mused, turning his attention back to the silverette.

Shougo reclines lightly in the chair, topaz orbs boring into the Korean's red-yellow eyes. A small smile (genuine he thinks— _hopes_) passes his lips followed by a chuckle. Choe gives him a quizzical look, looking behind himself as the asymptomatic ceases his laughter.

"Sorry, but I had an amusing thought. Tell me, Choe, what would you be without Sibyl? In another life, another time, what would you do?"

The brunette blinked in surprise, but recovered smoothly. "I would have been fine with anything. A teacher, a writer, a computer analyst... as long as I could be happy, truly happy. As long as I could make my own decisions and my own mistakes."

"I just want to do everyday things in an everyday way. Much like you, Choe."

The answer seems so sincere that the Korean is caught off guard. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he looks down, obscuring his eyes with his bangs. It's so... normal. From the man who could kill without lifting a finger it seems so ordinary and mundane, yet, it fit him. The monster who wanted to be human...

Choe finally looks up, a smile flitting to his face. "Yes. Once Sibyl is destroyed, maybe we can be normal. It would be nice, living just to live."

Makishima nods. "Life with the purpose of living... someone's been reading too much Huxley." The silver-haired man's trade-mark smirk is back and Choe can't help but smile wider.

"Yes, but I don't think I'm the only one. What did you say before, about loneliness? I think it was a quote from Brave New World."

The question stirs a shadow in the asymptomatic's eyes but he conceals it with a well-placed smirk. "_If one's different, one's bound to be lonely_."

"_I am I, and I wish I weren't_." He quotes back smoothly, surprising himself.

Makishima shakes his head. "No, Sibyl is our enemy, not ourselves. Remember that, Choe."

And that is something Choe tries his hardest to remember, even when blood coats his own hands. Even when Makishima gives a boyish smirk and kills (_murders_) his victim with little hesitation. He tries to remember that, but when he sees blood, when he sees the _product_ of their deeds, he feels absolutely sick.

* * *

It is the night before the attack. It should be a celebration, really, complete with wine and food (real, home-made food, with no synthetics) and music. But, in the coldness of the room, it feels more akin to the Last Supper.

There is the clatter of teacups, coupled with the faint sound of classical music. Beethoven's  
moonlight sonata, Choe thinks as the sound drifts steadily through the halls and into the dining room.

Makishima has insisted on using candles to light the penthouse, and now, in the dim light of the flickering flames, the Korean can see truly just how much the asymptomatic's eyes resemble a fire. Before he can become wrapped up in the sea of gold and flecks of orange and amber, Choe speaks, bringing the teacup towards his lips.

"Tomorrow is the dawn of a new world."

Makishima smiles wryly at the comment, skimming his finger on the blue-patterned china cup. Choe had never noticed until then that the asymptomatic's favorite tea cup was chipped at the side.

"_O brave new world, that has such people in't_..." He starts, taking a sip from the damaged china. Choe watches as he places the cup back down, cushioning the edge with his pinky.

He waits patiently for the silver-haired man to continue, bicolored eyes trained to the dark shadows that flickered from the flames. They danced and jumped around the dining table as if they had a life of their own. And, it's funny, Choe thinks, how the flames seem more alive than those under Sibyl.

The red-yellow flames jump without a pattern, billowing left and right, reaching up to light the corners of the ceiling. A single flame from the candelabra in the middle of the table dies out suddenly.

And the Korean is reminded that everything dies. Even a flame, full of beauty and power, would eventually go out. He turns his attention back to the asymptomatic.

"Your eyes are like the flames, Choe." Makishima suddenly remarks, topaz orbs trained to his face.

There is a hint of _something_ behind his eyes, but it quickly vanishes again to that of contentment. For a moment, he swore he saw true sadness hidden beneath the brilliant golds and yellows.

Choe shakes his head. It was a time for celebration, after all. Tomorrow, the world would be free. Tomorrow would prove the strength of their conviction and relieve them of their burdens.

_Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time..._

(or, at least, that's what he kept telling himself.)

"Really? That's interesting... because I could say the same about yours."

Another flame eventually dies out, leaving a harsh shadow against the Korean's face.

* * *

All he can see is crimson. He pretends that it doesn't hurt him (doesn't pierce straight into the soul Sibyl deemed he didn't have), doesn't let his emotions boil to the surface. Not yet.

There is only the briefest widening of his topaz eyes and a slight intake of breath.

(_out, out brief candle_, he recites in his head, thoughts flickering to the night before, when the man was alive and breathing and _tangible_.)

The cracked phone in his hand flickers to black. There is silence for a fraction of a millisecond as Makishima brings his eyes to the lilac-haired woman. The mask of a smile slips onto his face.

There is needless banter that he has analyzed long before the woman (Touma, he corrects in his head but stops— he has lost that title) even motions to pull out the Dominator.

Straddling the woman's waist, he brings the monitor over his head and swings. The sound of breaking bone and pained cries rings in his ear as he crushes the woman— the sheep under him. He leaves with a parting whisper, his anger subdued for a time.

"Are you still afraid of death, even after reaching the understanding of the gods?"

The android stutters and stumbles to a stop, strips of flesh peeled open to reveal the hollowness inside.

(and he realizes later that the hollowness is not specific to solely machines)

He leaps calmly from the wreckage of the helicopter, landing neatly on the roof of a skyscraper. He can hear the brunette's voice in the wind, the sun diving (falling, _dying_) below the city horizon. From his perch he stares at the stars.

Makishima reaches a slender hand to the sky, watching as it obscures the closest glittering light. Closing his palm over the star, he frowns.

The emptiness was back. With Choe gone, the loneliness was pressing against him again, against the creases of his eyes and the corners of his mind. Suddenly, the world was once again full of electric sheep.

(except this time he wasn't even sure he was human)

* * *

_Everyone is alone. Everyone is empty. People no longer have need of others. You can always find a spare for any replacement. Any relationship can be replaced. I had gotten bored of a world like that._

Just as the gunshot rings out he wonders faintly if Choe is mad at him. He really wanted it to be more than a fool's dream, more than a philosophical whim, but with the barrel of a gun pressed to his skull and the steady tap of blood at his feet, his wish never seemed so futile.

Then, there is darkness.

(and he feels the warmth of a hand on his shoulder)

* * *

A/N: Alright, here's a list of book quotes I put in here:  
-Brave New World, Aldous Huxley  
-Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick (that's where the first quote comes from, btw)  
-The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner  
-Macbeth, Shakespeare  
-Vampire Chronicles, Anne Rice  
-Bible (sort of)  
-The Tempest, Shakespeare

I would have quoted 1984 but that's one book I haven't read yet ^^' Also, Choe Gu-Sung is one of my favorite characters in Psycho-Pass, so this little oneshot is way overdo :P I like to think that they had Choe felt more remorse for Makishima's actions than what he showed (especially w/ Rikako's case) and that they had a friendly, amicable relationship; that Makishima wasn't just using Choe, but saw him as an equal, or even a friend.

**Review?**  
-Isis


End file.
